A room at The Dorchester is an expensive thing
by RhondaStar
Summary: Set immediately after Waterloo - Grace decides enough is enough and takes action in her relationship with Boyd by booking a night at a hotel... Grace/Boyd of course!


_**I've had this on my PC for far, FAR too long! I've been a Boyd/Grace fan since WTD first aired and have tried many times to write them but never been happy with their 'voices'. Still, I was tidying the other day and thought I'd give it a try and post this - please let me know what you think.**_

_**Set immediately after 'Waterloo'**_

_**AN: I own nothing and make no money from this.**_

* * *

><p><strong>A room at <strong>_**The Dorchester**_** is an expensive thing**

It wasn't meant to be like this. Really – after nine years! – They end up in a hotel snatching a few hours to pledge whatever confused feelings and half-explored emotions they have for each other.

Spencer had popped the Champagne, drunk out of take-away plastic cups bought at the chip shop.

"You spoil us Boyd," Eve had said as she'd unwrapped the packages, senses hit by salt and vinegar fusing with the evening air.

"I'm hoping this isn't our last meal together," Grace hinted taking her plastic cup from Spencer. "I think he owes us a bit more than chips by the side of the Thames."

"What could be more English?" He said sitting beside her on the cold stone wall.

"We should be drinking flat pop or a pint of ale then shouldn't we?" She clicked her cup against his.

"This tastes better," he flashed her one of his trademark grins, accepting the slightly greasy paper package from Eve and holding it between the pair of them.

They sat and ate and drank and talked and reflected. Spencer had made a half-assed toast towards Mel and Stella and Sarah, and Boyd had ducked his head in painful remembrance, always avoiding, Grace thought watching him.

In time it got too late and too cold and Spencer was already half-way drunk, having consumed more of the Champagne than the others. He stumbled off, in search of a club and a pretty girl to deviate his mind from the evils of the past days.

The chill was setting in and Grace wished she'd worn a thicker coat, she shivered and Boyd's arm went about her shoulders. As the hour drew late her head tipped to rest on his shoulder and Eve saw her cue to leave. As polite and softly-spoken as ever she kissed Grace goodbye promising to be in touch in the next few days. Grace had always been good at that kind of thing, keeping contact with old friends, past acquaintances and work-colleagues. Boyd less so. Ever the loner.

"It's late," she whispered, her words muffled as she spoke into the shoulder of his coat. "We should go."

She felt his fingers flex around her shoulders before gripping her tighter. He was rarely intimate with her, if anyone. The magnitude of it not lost on her.

She tugged herself loose, standing and stretching, she was too old to sit on cold walls on autumn nights. Her back wasn't always forgiving.

"I'll get you a taxi," he said, reluctant to stand. He watched as she collected up the wrappings from their chips, the empty champagne bottle and cups and walked a short distance to the rubbish bin. "Ever mother," he mumbled.

"Come on," she was assertive, slipping her bag over her arm.

"Enjoying my last few moments of freedom," he smiled. "Don't rush me."

She stepped into him, close enough for her legs to be touching his knees. "Were you planning on turning yourself in now, fugitive that you are."

"In the morning perhaps, after a decent breakfast. Not sure my brain has the energy to argue my way out of this one just yet."

"So, let's go."

"Eager to get away from me?"

"Hardly..." she smiled, though oddly felt her stomach twist with nerves. This had been a last minute thing, as always, yet now she wondered if it were the right decision. If she could even go through with it. "Where are you planning on going tonight?" She asked, trying to keep her voice neutral.

He shrugged, "Hadn't thought."

There was an unnerving feeling rearing its head deep down in her stomach – this was it, the moment. No going back.

"Good job I have," she said, as assertive as she could sound. "So, come on."

She walked fast, he followed at a slight distance at first, it was a change, she was usually the one trailing behind him observing his many oddities. He recognised the route though and soon caught up with her, surprised when she hooked her arm through his pulling him with her and into the hotel. She seemed to be in a hurry – that made him smile too.

He wondered just what she intended to say when they got to the desk; one doesn't just 'turn-up' at a hotel of this calibre and enquire after spare rooms. But she was relaxed and as he waited a few steps away he realised the room had already been booked and within minutes he found himself exiting the lift and entering an opulent double room.

"It's floral," he said when they were alone.

"What did you expect?"

"Thought they'd redesigned, gone all post-modern or something."

She was taking her coat off, "Hardly their style, it would lose its soul surely."

"Guess so," he sank into a chair, groaning at the comfort of it after the hard wall. Days without rest and filled with anxiousness and stress took its toll on the body.

She was perched on the end of the bed taking her boots off, he watched as she removed the odd stocking things she wore and wiggled her toes, digging them down into the plush caramel carpet.

"I like the blue though," he said absently.

"Yes," she stood up, "are you getting undressed?"

He couldn't help but laugh.

"Interesting seduction technique Grace."

She raised her eyebrows, "Perhaps another nine years of flirtation first, arguing, banter, batting barbs back and forth. Hmm?"

"I guess we have rather exhausted that."

He sat forward, hands folded together, elbows resting on his knees, watching her with dark amused eyes.

She moved a little closer, close enough for him to see the tremble of her hands as she folded her arms over her stomach. "Wishing your last night was with some young blonde?"

He made an odd face, caught between amusement and a grimace, "Who doesn't need to make conversation after right? Come on, you know me better than that."

"I'm hoping I do. Otherwise I'm making a right twit of myself here."

This time his face was genuine amusement, he sat back more relaxed and slipped his coat off.

"Let me get this straight, you booked one night here at The Dorchester just to have your wicked way with me?"

She didn't reply, kept her gaze steady, her eyes as steely as she could manage in amidst the many emotions flittering back and forth through her chest.

"Doesn't like the term, 'wicked way'." He noted, trying to smile but her eyes were too bright, too revealing and instead he stared at her, a tightness forming around his lungs, a lump in his throat.

"Grace," he said gently, voice a little hoarse.

"Boyd," she moved even closer towards him, back to their position of earlier, her legs touching his knees, only this time he raised his hands, tenderly placing them on her waist and she stepped into his body. Instinctively he rested his head on her stomach, her arms went around his broad back and she held him tight against her, closing her eyes. Relief he was there, that he'd survived the tumultuous events of the past weeks, that he hadn't run a mile when she'd led him here. Then he cried. Sobbed into her stomach like a child and her heart, already locked inevitably to his, simultaneously broke and filled with love for him all over again.

She was silent and patient and gave him time to sob it out, she wondered just how long it had been since he'd done this, really let go, and was thankful it had happened. He needed it. She needed to see it. In time he quieted and stilled against her, still holding her body tight, there was a slight dull ache forming at the base of her spine but she remained standing there.

"Peter," she whispered after a while and was surprised when this time he chuckled against her, an odd muffled sound. She leant back slightly to look at him, his eyes red but that cheek of a smile she knew so well.

"Must be serious, using my Christian name."

She brushed his hair back from his face, had always wondered about it, the texture, the thickness, the way it would feel against her fingertips. And allowed herself the pleasure of letting her fingers stroke over his broad brow, down his cheek, until he caught her wrist in his and kissed it.

The touch, tender and soft, sent a thrill of something too dangerous to dwell upon through her body. He held her still, turning her wrist in his hand, so tiny against his thick fingers, stroking her pulse point with his thumb, seemingly transfixed by her skin. He pressed his lips down against her palm and she closed her eyes, bit down on her bottom lip to hold in the moan threatening to escape. If they never made love or went any further than this she was absolutely sure she'd still be content.

Then he spoke and whatever walls she managed to haphazardly build over the past nine years, defences against his bullish behaviour that had been chipped away and rebuilt as time had gone on, disappeared.

"I love you Grace," he whispered, as if afraid of the words, and this time she cried.

Her body fell forward and he caught her, as an undignified sob filled the room, her emotions raw and unchecked right then.

He rubbed her back, held her upright, was nudging her chin with his head until she placed her hands on the side of his face and held him still. Smiling. Crying.

"You're a real bastard at times do you know that."

Her reaction floored him, open-mouthed for a moment until she leant down and kissed him, a quick chaste thing.

"Why didn't you... years ago, for god's sake Boyd."

"No more Peter?"

"Maybe."

"Too messed up to say it years ago."

"To even admit it to me or let a chink of the armour down just slightly."

He gripped her tighter, silencing her complaints, "More chinks in my armour because of you than ever before. Stop talking."

"We're back to the young dumb blonde."

"I like older women."

She laughed, "Liar!"

"I like you." He was rubbing her back with his palm, her loose shirt moving freely under his touch.

"You said _love_ earlier," Her hands gripped his shoulders, his shirt and jacket in the way, but he smelt good, his cologne she'd smelled a thousand times before magnified in this situation.

"Make the most of it."

"Tease," she kissed his forehead.

"Says the women who dragged me into a hotel room."

"I hardly think 'drag' is the right word."

"Making sure I have a memorable last night before they send me down. Will you visit?"

He succeeded in pulling her shirt up and now his fingers dared to venture inside and tenderly stroke the skin newly accessible to him. "No. And you won't get 'sent down'. And I shan't be smuggling any nail files in neither." She pushed his jacket back off his shoulders and he loosened his grip on her slightly to accommodate her movements.

"Can't believe you won't visit."

She gasped when he leant forward and kissed her neck.

"You do understand," she whispered, eyes closed; head back, "that this isn't a one night stand thing."

"Never would be. Hence nine years of flirting."

Her fingers moved to deftly open shirt buttons, her nails lightly trailing over his skin, through the sparse darkly grey hair there. "I expect certain things, honesty being number one."

"Why are you always so bloody difficult? Moment like this, I'm trying to get you naked and you set ground rules."

She laughed, holding his face again, his shirt open, so few boundaries left between them now. "Because I know you too well, you remember everything, you'll act now think later."

"Believe me, I've been thinking of this for a while."

"Me too," she admitted, perhaps right from the start, she doubted his had been quite that long.

"So!" He demanded no trace of his earlier breakdown evident.

"So..." she leant her head down, forehead touching his and smiled when he closed his eyes, for a moment he looked vulnerable. His breath hit her face; she licked her bottom lip and closed her eyes too. Their foreheads parting as their lips met, that first delicious sensation, so delicate and almost nervous as they crossed this line. It had always been there, perhaps not always as forceful but clearly always in existence – attraction and lust – as old as the earth. And then something more growing from it, friendship, respect, admiration, battle-lines and opposites and clashes.

Boyd groaned, his hands suddenly more eager upon her, pulling her against him until she was in his lap and her tongue – daring – in his mouth.

"God Grace..." he mumbled against her lips and she felt the urge to cry again but quashed it. This wasn't the time. Not to cry and reflect on all that had gone wrong between them over the years but to finally enjoy it, to finally have it, all that was possible between them.

There was no doubt in her mind this was it now, forever. He was the man she'd live with, grow older with, argue and share with, love and lust after day-in, day-out. And there wasn't even a trace or niggling doubt that he didn't feel the same. With Boyd it was always all or nothing. So, here he was, giving her the 'all' part, finally.

In the chair in the corner they kissed, giving in to a lifetime of wonder. She felt the loose tunic she wore lifted up and over her arms, closely followed by the blue t-shirt and then his snort of derision. "What?" She asked lips still full and bruised from kissing him.

"How many layers do you wear?" He mocked, indicating the fact she was still in a camisole.

"It's almost winter," she smiled, but sat back slightly, allowing him to slip it off. Nervous perhaps at being partially naked now, in the full light of the room. Glad she'd worn a decent bra at least.

He didn't speak, leant forward and kissed her chest, adoringly, much more than physical, an appreciation of everything she was, everything she'd ever been and would be to him. She allowed him the moment, indulgent, supported by his strong arm behind her back, she closed her eyes, threaded her fingers through his hair – her own indulgence.

There had been a time, after her illness, when she'd wondered if this would ever happen, if she'd ever let it. Doubts over her body, health, fitness. There had also been a time after her illness when she'd wondered if perhaps Boyd was about to confess how he felt but no, as always they'd stepped behind the shade of professionalism and let it pass. No matter how right it felt when he held her hand, or how overwhelmed she was when he'd saved her life. Things moved on, as they always did with them. They were ever evolving – maybe that was why they worked.

"God I want you..." he suddenly breathed against her throat and a wave of pleasure swept through her at the statement. The realisation he found her attractive; she'd always been confident of his professional belief in her, even after their fight a couple of years ago, but this was something entirely different.

His hand was in her hair, his mouth hot and demanding against hers. Now this had started there was no going back, she knew she'd never want to.

"I want you too," she finally whispered against his lips and his smile was delicious.

At times she forgot how physically imposing Boyd could be, but he was entirely masculine, and despite nearing sixty still fit and strong. He quite easily stood, lifting her body up with him, her legs draped over his arm. She'd actually yelped at the sudden movement and then laughed at the improbability of it all. He'd watched her, a grin on his face, she was happy; it surprised him how good that made him feel in return.

"So, is this your caveman routine?" She asked, linking her hands behind his neck.

"Did you expect anything less?" he mocked.

She shrugged, "Not really, no. Can you put your glasses on though and glance over at the top of them at me."

"What during? Naughty, naughty girl."

"Fantasies."

"We'll swap later."

They were both still chuckling as they reached the bed, as soft and welcoming as it looked. Grace quickly stripped back the silky top sheet, purely there for decoration, and shifted up the bed, depositing a couple of the pillows on the floor and sitting back. She watched amused as Boyd kicked his shoes off, struggling with his socks and the belt on his trousers.

"Erm, do you think I should..." He moved across the room, scanning the walls for switches. Quite suddenly edgy.

"Boyd."

"One second Grace."

"Are you looking for this?" She twisted the dimmer switch by the side of the bed. "Better?"

He was grinning as he came back to the bed, standing beside her. "She always knows best."

"Remember that."

He folded his hands together, "I'm surprisingly nervous."

"That's supposed to be my line. We can just lay here and talk." She said pointedly, keenly aware of the fact she wore just her bra on the top of her body.

He glanced down at the rather noticeable bulge in his trousers, "Yeah sure, let's just do that."

She chuckled, reaching for his hand, "Well, get in bed then."

He moved forward at the same time as she did, Grace suddenly feeling brave and reaching for the buckle on his trousers. She sensed his surprise at the movement and looked up at him as her fingers flicked open his button and pulled down the zip.

"We hardly have forever Boyd," she offered.

"You thinking I'm too old to go all night?"

"I'm thinking I am."

He rested his hands heavily on her shoulders as she forced his trousers down, pleased to see he wore black briefs, "We'll see Grace."

He tripped over onto the bed, causing her to laugh again as he kicked his trousers off his ankles. Their mouths connecting, eager and hungry, as his hands went to remove her chunky necklace, it caught on her chin as he tried to lift it and again she gave a little yelp. Stopping mid-kiss to remove it herself.

"I'm so glad this is clumsy." She mocked.

"Like two bloody fumbling teenagers. You do remember how to do this don't you?"

"Cheeky bastard, do you? You're the one tripping up and snagging my hair in my jewellery."

"What you do to me, all fingers and thumbs."

"My mother used to say that."

"Don't bring your mother into this or _it_ will completely disappear."

"Sorry," she kissed him again, hardly ever wanting to stop now. "Sorry, sorry..."

He fell back against the pillows, her body moving with him, chest to chest, his arms surrounding her tiny body. At times he forgot how physically small she was, she gave as good as she got and was never one to back down. It often masked her slight frame. Now, she felt delicate in his hands and he handled her as such.

"Peter," she breathed, wiggling against him, her legs finding a space between his. "I'm real you know."

When her knee deliberately moved higher all thoughts of taking this as slowly and gently as possible disappeared and he rolled them over.

"Message received," he mumbled against her skin as his kisses slid down her neck and to her breasts.

She closed her eyes, letting the sensations wash over her as he skilfully covered her body in kisses, hands tracing every line of her flesh, committing it to memory; where tickled, where made her gasp or groan or arch up against him. He reached her trousers, easily slipped them down her legs and deposited them on the floor.

And suddenly things became much more serious.

Gone was the laughter. The chatter. The banter. The world shrank and evolved just around the two of them and a sea of touch and feeling.

* * *

><p>Laying on her side Grace tugged the thick quilt up and over her shoulder, her body still trembling. Annoyed with herself and almost ashamed as she wiped at her face.<p>

Behind her Boyd kissed her shoulder, the back of her neck, his arm over her and resting on her stomach, stroking her skin.

"You aren't supposed to cry." He whispered in the darkness. "It doesn't do much for my ego."

"I know," she choked out, her throat tight. "I'm so sorry."

"Why?"

"Because it's embarrassing, crying like some teenager after her first time."

"I'm hoping they are some kind of emotional, perhaps even happy tears. Rather than, 'oh fuck I've waited all this time and he's shit in bed' tears."

She laughed, still wiping her cheeks. "No, not that." She turned in his arms, "Not that." Her hands slid around his back as they held each other close. "Just, I didn't expect to feel so overwhelmed. It's silly. I'm old enough to know better."

"I'm rather flattered," he kissed her forehead.

"It's been exhausting and draining these past few days and now this..."

"Are you analysing Doctor Foley?"

"No," she groaned, burying her face in his chest, "No I'm not, god, sex doesn't usually get me this way."

"I was going to ask should I prepare for this each and every time."

She smiled, lifting her face to his again, "Meaning there will be another time?"

"I would hope so. If I'm not locked up somewhere. Will you come with me tomorrow?"

He didn't usually ask for help, not personal help, and it moved her. She held her breath before more tears could fall.

"Yes, I'll come with you."

"If only to grab me as I swing a left hook..."

"Peter." She warned.

He chuckled, "Is this it, we've moved Boyd?"

"For tonight, if you start battering your way through interviews then Boyd will return!"

"I rather like Boyd." He snuggled against her, kissing the top of her head.

"I'll admit I rather like the way you bark _Grace_ at me, but don't tell anyone."

"Lips are sealed."

Within minutes they were asleep.

* * *

><p>Boyd awoke some time after three. The howl of a police siren startling him, he'd never been a deep sleeper anyhow. Grace had turned over at some point, her back now against his chest, her legs curled and his tucked up behind her.<p>

Gently he removed his arm from her waist and slid out of bed, stretching, moving to the window and peeking out to the city streets. All seemed still, a light drizzle leaving the roads like rivers of black. He leaned further forward to get a better view – giving a strangled bark of pain as his shin hit some small table. A plant fell to the carpet with a gentle thud and Grace peered out from the duvet.

"What the hell are you doing?"

"Knocked my bloody shin on this bastard thing." He said indicating the table, visible in the moonlight.

"Why are you up anyway?"

"Something woke me."

"Not making a run for it?" She mumbled, settling her head back down on the pillow.

"Not yet."

"Ha bloody ha, get back in bed."

He left the small gap in the curtains to avoid further accidents and returned to the warmth of the bed, easily cuddling up behind her.

"Your feet are cold now," she complained.

He deliberately rubbed them against her, "You've got great legs you know," he whispered, his fingers tracing down over her hip and to her thigh, the other hand reaching around to cup her breasts, "And great breasts too."

"Mmm," she was half-asleep, pretending to ignore him.

"What do you think's the point of that?"

"Of what?"

"That table? It's round. And small."

"So?"

"So what's the use of it? To put potted plants on? Fake ones too I'll bet."

"Let's hope so otherwise you'll be paying for the soil damage to the carpet."

"They can kiss my..."

"Boyd!"

He laughed, tickling her stomach, "Ah it's back."

"Shut up."

"I'm wide awake."

"So I can hear, and feel." She wiggled her bottom against him.

"Grace..." he whispered by her ear before gently nibbling on it.

Despite herself she smiled at his playful insistence, it wasn't often she saw him in this mood and certainly never before in these circumstances, she intended to make the most of it.

Turning over she placed her hands on his chest, pushing him back. "You're like a child."

His response was to slide his hand into her hair and bring her mouth down to his.

"Grace..." he breathed heavily, his hand between her legs.

"I like it when you say it like that too," she gasped, twisting a little onto her side. Boyd moved with her, his leg moving between hers, looping hers up and over his hip. "I sense this is just going to keep getting better." She smiled against his lips.

"Practice does make perfect."

* * *

><p>Grace had never been one to sleep late, no matter the hour at which she went to bed. And Boyd was something of an insomniac. So despite their fitful and interrupted sleep both were up and around by eight. He'd interrupted her in the shower, made the most of its size and joined her in there.<p>

She didn't tell him it was a fantasy ticked off. Instead she played it cool and calm, knowing him well enough by now. No need to lay it on thick, her emotional outburst the previous night was enough to probably last him until at least Christmas – in fact she was a little surprised he hadn't been completely put off. But no, three times in one night at their age – he _definitely_ wasn't put off.

"You nearly ready Grace?" He snapped, lounging on the bed reading the breakfast menu with his glasses perched on the edge of his nose.

"Getting there," she was in the bathroom, trying to make do with the make-up in her handbag and a lack of styling products for her hair. Impulsive nights in hotels did have some downfalls.

"You think anyone's missed us?" He called.

"Probably not, I assumed they'd look for you at my house, or Spencer's."

He thought of his home, "Crime scene central," he muttered.

"What?" She emerged from the bathroom, flicking out the ends of her hair with her fingertips.

"Nothing."

"You think you'll go back there?"

He shrugged, reluctant to pursue the line of thought. "Who knows. Doubt it. Tainted now." He stretched on the bed, like a lion Grace thought, smug and sated. "Besides, I might have other places to stay."

"As much as I enjoy having you around."

"Enjoy me." He teased.

She glared, "It might be early stages for all day every day."

"How many times a week do you want it, then I can stencil you into my diary?"

She threw one of the pillows from the floor at him. "Play nice."

"Always. Great choice here, Eggs Benedict, kippers, haddock, waffles; they've got Grilled lamb's kidneys with bacon and fried egg."

She wrinkled her nose, "You're not really going to have that for breakfast are you?"

"Could be my last meal Grace, gotta make it count."

"That will make you ill if nothing else."

"Mmm," he was rolling his lips as he continued to read the menu; she was tidying the room, finding his socks under the bottom of the bed.

"You'll need these."

"You see, like a wife already."

She leant over him, dropping the socks to his chest, "The moment I start picking dirty socks up from the bathroom floor is a moment too far."

"Romance gone then?"

"Definitely. You seen those beads I had on last..."

He reached over to the other side of the bed and grabbed them from the side-table.

"Thank you. I think I'm ready."

He snapped the menu shut.

"Right, well, thanks for a great night Doctor Foley, was a real treat."

"I thought you were going to behave."

"I am."

"Then don't act like this doesn't mean anything."

He caught her hand, pulling her back to sit on the bed with him, he kissed the side of her neck, saying nothing but communicating in a very real sense exactly what it meant.

"You know we're going to encounter a thousand problems." She said, folding her fingers with his.

"A-ha."

"And will probably argue each and every day."

"At least."

She shook her head, smiling, closing her eyes as he continued to kiss her shoulders and neck. "but you know Grace, we'll get there in the end, work it out."

She twisted to look at him, kissing his lips quickly, "We always do." She gave his hand a quick squeeze before getting up, "Come on then hectic day, breakfast, pay the extortionate bill, clear your name and then find a new job."

* * *

><p><em><strong>I'm still not entirely happy with it but at least I've given it a try! Please let me know what you think x R<strong>_


End file.
